Pulled Apart Against My Will
by WonderousPlaceForAnEcho
Summary: Post Season 2, Clarke & Lexa meet again under strange circumstances, post apocalypse, death, something like zombies...dark, disturbing, all sorts of fun clearly.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hello & thank you for reading. Wanted to write a 100 fic since I watched it but I couldn't think of a moody enough plot...then I had a dream. Literally (Chris Traeger) I woke up and thought huh...I dreamed about Christen Press and wow my subconscious is...something. So I tweaked the dream and after 8 hours of writing-2 chapters. I knew it would be difficult to write because I don't relate to the character much like I do with my other fics and I can't throw in pop culture references for my own amusement/plot development. The 100 is very bare, like camping (which I don't care for.) Thanks Trooper for saying its great I plan out my fics and put conscious effort/care about them. That was sweet. I have standards. Also I have 3 other stories in my head I want done this month but Jessica Jones is a wonderful distraction. This was a lot of fun to write after writing fluff & it was meant to be a 1 shot but is a multi chapter because there is much to be said for chaos & humanity. Also because my friend said she hated zombies & I said they represent people becoming monsters, how drugs alter a person, that someone can become so sick they're a shell of who they used to be & she said nothing scares people more than random, unexplained violence.

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 _This is how the world ends. Not with a BANG...but with a whimper._ Clarke would replay that on a loop in her head when she looked out at the barren terrain. She had read it somewhere in what felt like a lifetime ago. _Well maybe the first time the world ended that's how it played out. It was mostly accurate._ There was whimpering. A lot of sorrow and stillness. Then came the groans and moaning. Sounds. Noises that shouldn't have come from humans.

The doctor side of her thought of certain words liked doomed, epidemic, virus, and death. The last was such a heavy word that she didn't leave her bunker for two days. The artist, hopeful side of her thought she was lucky enough to have come across a safe haven in the form of a fall out shelter. It had taken her all of one day to claim it as her own and with no one to fight or compete with she considered it amazing she had come across it. That it hadn't been discovered before was a miracle. If Clarke believed in miracles. It was too easy to imagine Monty saying-its highly improbable anyone would stumble into this place and that it came with provisions. She could also imagine Bellamy looking for weapons with an intensity she could admire but also be weary of. And she could picture Octavia noting the place was stocked but be drawn to the massive bookshelf that covered an entire wall, looking on with a rare smile, and taking I that there was so much to learn and help them after she got over the hatred of being confined again. But her friends were days away. If they were alive. So Monty would say it was statistically improbable and Clarke would have said yeah, but we're here and its amazing. Her optimism existed before the second end of the world. It was easy to get into moods and become reclusive for days. She also felt forced to be an anti-social pessimist.

There wasn't anyone to feel responsible for. No one to fight against, no one to communicate with. As she stood outside her bunker and scanned the forest she couldn't help but question if she had gone deaf. It was too quiet. Unbelievably quiet. It had been weeks since the gas and infections. She wondered with annoyance what it was about this world that wouldn't learn from its mistakes. Mount Weather had taught her more about gas than she wanted to know and tried desperately to block out.

Being alone, forced to be solitary allowed her to read books that were on the massive wall. She read the old books with care, gently turned the pages and felt so ambivalent that she wanted to scream but didn't dare to avoid attracting attention from the carriers. She couldn't think of another word for them. Corpses seemed too blunt and disrespectful. But it was best to avoid them, she rationalized for the sake of her physical well-being but also her psyche. Her list of things she wanted to block out was quickly becoming overwhelmingly long. She questioned if her teachings and lectures on the arc about the Hippocratic oath was more so nostalgic sentimentality than anything else because she was finding it unrealistic, idealistic and antiquated. Or maybe they were never meant to come back to the earth. Maybe they should have never descended and become the sky people. Maybe the carriers were mutations the Mountain Men had formed from their experiments. Biological mutations with adverse effects . Maybe they were always roaming since the first end and finally reached here. Maybe they mutated like some of the wildlife had from toxins. Maybe, maybe, maybe with no answers. Clarke considered it to the point she worked up a headache and decided it didn't matter why. It had created hell.

Like shooting Jasper in the head, who looked at her through an opaque eye and groaned like blood was in his lungs. She wished it were different before she slowly raised her gun, matching his jerky, slow movements. She wished she didn't have to kill Finn. She wished the phrase mercy killing actually softened the blow and weight of it. She wished for a lot of things, but never on stars. She knew all too well they didn't hold any magic. She of the sky people knew wishing on stars was a child's game.

When she pulled the trigger to absolutely obliterate Jasper's life or non-life and any remaining ambition that made the carriers keep going she thought of a line from a book she had finished just a few days ago-I am haunted by humans. She repeated that phrase and felt it as she walked towards the waterfall to take what passed for a shower. A week later she still felt dirty. She had wandered within a two mile radius the first couple days and became bolder, venturing five miles to forage certain things she knew were safe and look for life.

Eventually she gave in and used the vitamins that were surprisingly abundant and stored in a cool, dry, dark place. Some still had their strange plastic sealing that Clarke had never seen before, but she used them sparingly-only when she woke with bruises; a tell of deficiency and unrested sleep. It helped her physically. Emotionally she had a love/hate relationship with the waterfall. More than the vitamins she appreciated being clean and for the few moments she felt serene. Even as she held a knife in her hand. She contemplated jumping. Letting the force of the water hold her down. She could see it happening, picture it with ease, but she had already fallen once and from a greater height to be welcomed into a world she couldn't truly have prepared for, one that defied expectations. Leaving this world likely wouldn't meet her expectations as well. So she decided to keep living. It was a conscious effort and sometimes it was _really fucking draining_ she would think when she woke, but if not for the sake of hope then the curiosity that tomorrow might be better.

With a long, deep breath she reminded herself of the fact she was alive while many others were not. In mid thought she stepped on something that sounded hollow. With a frown she turned her head and surveyed if anyone was around to hear. Then she stepped harder, wondering for a second if it was a trick of her sense and if she was going insane. But the sound was solid of wood meeting metal. A dull thud that seemed to echo her heartbeat. She didn't realize she had bent down and brushed the leaves and foliage away until she was staring at a door.

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Author's Note: This is how the world ends quote is by T.S. Eliot. "anti-social pessimist" in a phrase in a song that I like but wish was done by Adele, when in doubt for titles use Florence + the machine lyrics is my motto! I am haunted by humans is from The Book Thief. (That book will wreck you in the best way.) Also thanks Kaylan for saying this is disturbing and Oh My God as I explained the plot details and you're still willing to read it after I've said its 3X worse and brutal than my Glee zombie fic.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Flat out warning I wanted to write a story that will wreck a person when they read it because its brutal and so hard to imagine anyone can live but also have it relatable. I cringed writing bits, but I hope someone enjoys this or considers them true to character. Mostly I wanted to write a fic about human nature. Its a slow start because really-no people, no technology, no music, etc...there's not much for Clarke to do in a solitary life.

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Her fist clenched and unclenched as it hovered over the door. Was knocking the best idea? Logically she thought- _I don't have much to lose. Maybe get more supplies...maybe...someone else survived._ Her breathing became uneven with thoughts in circles and she kneeled so long her knee was starting to ache more than usual. Yesterday she thought she would kill for a cortisone shot for her arthritis but she hated that expression. One of her life's greatest ironies that although she had training to be a doctor she had killed so much. But those thoughts never helped and before she could think more she knocked. She waited. Rubbed her knee and waited. She could have guessed there wouldn't be a reply. The world was barren now.

Smoothly she unsheathed her knife and gripped it firmly as she tried the metal handle that was strong, cold, and locked. _Of course impassable, but not impenetrable_ she reasoned as the worked the knife between the groove., mimicking what Octavia had taught her. If she had a watch she figured a half hour had passed of her trying to break in. Occasionally she had looked up to see if any carriers or predators were present. In a vain attempt to release tension she rolled her shoulders and with narrowed eyes set back to work on the door. But it was getting darker and colder, she could feel it in her joints without having to look through the dense forest. With a low groan she got up, stretched and walked over to a tree. She carved an x about the size of her palm, leveled with her torso into the bark, brushed her hands on her thighs and turned to the direction of her bunker but paused.

It wouldn't be safe to be out at night, she had a self regulated curfew, an internal clock and knowledge that she didn't have any engagement plans for the rest of her days. Tomorrow would be another chance she promised herself. After all she had nothing better to do than read and search for food. Quickly she moved the leaves back over the door and then made the trek home. With another deep breath she considered how home had changed over the years-the actual place of it and the concept. Home was a concrete, square hole but it was empty. The home in space could feel empty but people were always around, friends and family you loved and occasionally wanted to get away from.

 _Humans are so adaptive. We can get...accustomed to chaos or peace...any setting given time...and sometimes we become complacent...and accept the chaos. Two years ago I didn't think I would be on the ground and the only living person for miles...and its our weakness and strength...that express? A...a double edged sword? That we're so adaptive because who the hell would tolerate this? And...have the ability to actually stand this unstable, fucking environment?_ She reminded herself to not be angry as she kept hiking. Anger required too much energy. _And..._ she stopped mid thought when she heard a sharp yip and then crying. All she had seen in the woods were elk and this sounded nothing like deer, but also pitiful.

Before she saw the creature she lowered her knife, knowing intrinsically it wouldn't harm her. Next to tree, in a poorly dug hole was a furry creature with what she considered floppy ears, a body that was missing patches of fur and what she took to be kind eyes. Slowly she kneeled in front of it and looked it over. No fatal wounds were seen aside from the stubby ear, the other was intact. They stared at one another. It was curled into a ball with large feet sticking out when it picked its seemingly too large head up. Those eyes looked over Clarke with the same intensity she looked on. Both curious, cold, and alone. Without any sudden movements she removed her thick scarf around her neck and tentatively placed it on the creature like a blanket. Just as slowly as her movements it tilted its head and nudged the scarf with its nose. She realized it seemed to be breathing it in and was surprised when it stood up, shook, clumsily walked to her and buried its face into the crook of her neck.

"Oh boy," she whispered and caught herself as she almost toppled over from the force. Now that it was standing the size was surprising, but she let out a barely audible laugh as it licked her face. "Ok. Want to come home with me?" She asked it, feeling silly trying to have a conversation with an animal, but it felt natural, To her amusement it wagged its tail as she cupped the side of its face, looked into those trusting eyes and scratched behind its one ear that was remaining. Already she was considering the medical treatment, but it was nice to focus on something. Gently she picked him up with effort, having given him a full look over now he was on all fours. He was remarkably heavy but he seemed to appreciate it when he burrowed into her further.

Her arms ached once she was inside. Thankfully she had been a mile away from the bunker. When she set him on the floor he jumped on her bed and rolled on the covers.

"Excuse you." She said with a stern voice but smiled seeing him roll on his back. "Listen, don't get blood on the blankets," she said firmly as she got out the metal box that said first aid kit. As she worked on getting the supplies ready the creature he laid still, allowing her to drift to any thought that came with quietness. _If only people listened this well to her if might have been less dramatic when they first landed. Or maybe not._ She huffed when she caught the baby creature chewing on the corner of her book. As she took it away she scolded him with a firm no then she looked at the book with a bit of heartbreak taking in the damage to the Sherlock Holmes novel. She was starting to fall in love with it. The creature looked content but she frowned down at him.

"Hmmm, how would you like your name to be Arthur?" She asked and smiled when he wagged his tail. "Ok. Arthur, off the bed, lets take care of that ear," she conversationally said as she pat the side of her quad and watched as he nearly tripped off the bed to come beside her and stopped when he pushed his large head into her thigh.

The next hour was dedicated to tending Arthur and any issues as he seemed to wait without any complaints. "You're one of the best patients I've ever had," she said as she scratched behind the good ear. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime ago she felt more at ease as she sat with her new companion. She scanned the bunker as she tried to decide which rations she wanted to eat in a little while and realized she had a book on animals, specifically canines, she was used to calling them. A spine of a book said dogs. In the recess of her mind she knew this would be helpful. With a sharp pain from her knee she raised from the chair, took the short steps over and grabbed it. Arthur stayed directly by her side, following her like a shadow.

"Do you have an attachment disorder I should know about?" She questioned as she looked down at a face that she could swear was smiling. "You're kind of weird." She said without judgment and with her own smile because if he could talk she thought he might say- I know! Isn't it great? Its great!

Her face muscles twitched as though they had lost the muscle memory to do so. She refocused on the book for the next forty-five minutes , occasionally looking at Arthur and the pictures. "It seems," she said in what her father had called her 'analytical tone' "you may be part grey hound," she said as she pet the long neck, "and Stafford terrier," she rubbed near his good ear again and as she read on she thought he had a head like a bulls and could understand, with her limited knowledge why people would call them pit-bulls. "But don't quote me on that. I could be wrong. Hmmm you turned out to be kind of goofy looking mix," She said the last part out loud accidently. Arthur moved his massive head out of reach. "No offense," she added and was again amused he leaned back into her hand. "Hungry?" She asked and watched him tilt his head in what seemed like confusion. Rather than explain food she made a show of presenting and preparing a meal. A metal bowl with scraps and another bowl of water was set down in the corner. Her voice needed a rest after weeks of barely talking her throat felt overused and hoarse. Arthur ate she moved one of the blankets to the ground at the end of the bed after having folded it a few times. If it were her she reasoned she wouldn't want to sleep on a cement floor.

The blankets were surprisingly well kept and still soft. The bunker itself was amazing and a life saver, but it was also lonely. She imagined a guy named Eddie Bauer had owned the dwelling because his name was on all the blankets and some of the clothes that were too big for her but would likely be another aid in the winter months.

Finally after she ate her food she took in the day. It had its surprises to the point that exhaustion hit her. The odd sensation of sleep walking settled in as she operated on auto-pilot; putting the rations and utensils away. When she let Arthur out to do his business she pulled the sweater closer to her body. She could tell she lost weight and she rationalized depression will do that. With a wave of affection she was glad to see Arthur come back of his own volition without having to call out. If he wanted to be wild that was a choice-one she wasn't going to take away. But it was nice to feel needed, no matter how selfish she knew it was.

Once back inside she watched with amusement as he moved in circles on the blanket after she pointed to it and he plopped down with a thud. She was seconds away form getting into bed when she noticed he was curled into a ball shivering. Moving fluidly around the bunker she went to her organized pile of material she had accumulated after weeks of searching for anything usable in the wilderness.

Soft, thick material should do it, but Arthur smelled it then gave a low growl. "Hmmm." With a curious frown she placed it back then grabbed her own scarf, wrapped it twice to make the loop smaller and held it out as an offering. Arthur was selective but kept nuzzling it. She had never had a pet before. Thought she didn't view Arthur as one. On arc she had read certain species had been domesticated, but it wasn't her intent. She hoped, which she knew, was a dangerous thing Arthur would be a friend, strange as that was to think. With a tilt of her head she accessed he was an intimidating looking creature. Giving a burst of energy she noted he wanted to play. Quickly she looked around and found a piece of material that couldn't be salvaged, tied a few knots in it and began to play tug of war. With a smile she thought _if this was real warfare I'd volunteer for it everyday._

When Arthur yawned and let out a small groan it triggered her to yawn. Smoothly she kicked off her shoes, burrowed under her own blankets as her thoughts drifted back to door. She would inspect it the moment the sun allowed it.

For days she had tried to go back to Mount Weather but couldn't bring herself to stand more than a hundred feet from it, staring at the door thinking they were haunted catacombs with power to traumatize the living. A part of her sense of morality was left behind there. It was a welcomed mental embrace she had something to distract herself from trying to gather the nerve to go into the fortress of ghosts.

The door. Even if nothing functional was inside it could be used as a backup home. Slowly she stretched as she woke. Arthur did the same and looked back with a 'hey, I'm doing what you do' expression. "Good Arthur. Good stretch," she said through a yawn as she pat his large head. After she gave him breakfast and ate a small bit herself, too excited to go back to the door she put everything away, let Arthur out after peeking her head above ground and scanned the forest for anything malicious. He bounded out and came back when he was done, going down the thick wooden steps like a brute. She pointed to the blanket again and told him to stay. Again she was surprised and relieved when he returned but when he looked confused she ruffled his fully intact ear and said, "sit, stay, save the day."

In minutes she had pulled on her boots and said, "I'll be back soon." As she grabbed her coat she added firmly, "and don't destroy anything" before she ducked out, quietly closed the door and brushed some leaves over her door that on the second day, with the help of super glue that was on a shelf applied some twigs and bark to it to provide better camouflage. It could only be locked inside and she wanted it hidden. More so now that she felt protective of Arthur.

On the surface the walk felt longer due to her impatience and anticipation, but her eyes were hunting for the subtle X. She had brought tools to hopefully work open the door. Slowly she brushed away the leaves to avoid creating noise in a quiet forest. She felt the cool metal on her fingertips, the only part exposed of her fingerless gloves. Her pockets felt heavy with the tools. She reached in and grabbed the one she thought would work best. Before she lined it up with the grooved she waited and knocked again. Nothing. No response after a long pause and feeling her pulse in her ears. Every few minutes she could look up. Prudence and caution were default approaches now. This world was unfit for recklessness. She already felt too vulnerable out in the open but this was worth exploring if there were supplies or even weapons. After an hour of trying to quietly pry the door open something gave with the sound of a break.

* * *

Author's Note: Arthur and Clarke as a duo is a reference to a good sci-fi author Arthur C. Clarke. Anyone pick up on that? "Quote-Psychoanalysis-contagious disease originating Vienna circa 1900-now extinct in Europe but occasionally outbreaks among rich Americans. Unquote. Funny?" also "and it was no coincidence that with the general improvement in mental health, religious fanaticism also started its rapid decline." 3001 The Final Odyssey is an amusing book, but that's just my opinion (someone with a psych minor who thinks psychology is a pseudo science). In no way am I trying to offend people but writing something (hopefully) thought provoking. Let's be honest-a mutated dog that is part grey hound (built for speed) and a pit-bull (strong, jaw impact given square footage and strength) mix who in this future world would reach the height from feet to head 5 feet is disturbing.

Anyone remember the show Wishbone? Even as a kid I think I liked literature and stories (didn't understand videos games) so sit, stay, save the day is from that. Also the subtext of Arthur's presence is how animals tend to be more pure than humans in my opinion and how companionship with animals help people live longer (there are studies, even if its common sense).


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: This is where it get's interesting...and then brutal...I warned you. Enjoy. The only reason this story has been updated again so soon is because I finished Jessica Jones. "I love you."

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In a crab like movement she had gotten behind the door and thought she needed an arrow in her chest like she needed a hole in her head-likely from a bullet. Rationality and fear didn't mix. They were not friends, they did not get together and bond. On the arc they would watch archived material called westerns. One of their themes was shoot first and ask questions second. Sometimes Clarke thought all she was missing was a horse to be in the genre.

With a full pull and hold the door was completely open. She expected the bunker to smell of stale air, something acrid. It could go either way. The first time she had gone into her bunker it smelled of dust. As she descended the stairs that let out small creaks her eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness though they didn't trust change from above ground to below. She finally saw the faint flicker of what she believed was a candle. For a moment she thought to roll her eyes at herself for the fleeting, clichéd symbolism the candle was a flicker of hope. With a firm grab of her knife that felt more like an extension of herself she descended the remaining stairs, bracing herself with every step. Finally she was on the concrete floor taking it in. That it was clean, organized, larger than hers, and smelled faintly of soap. Slowly her senses took it all in and caught tired, guarded green eyes that were always trying to overtake the hazel. She saw them widen slightly then narrow in what seemed to be recognition amid the layers.

Bare skin-those eyes the color of a dying earth that may have mirrored their surroundings kept a watchful, weary, withdrawn gaze. For a second Clarke paused and with a tilt to her head thought _I was right. There was a weapon down here._ As she looked at Lexa. A girl. There weren't any black smudges, as though Heda was gone, the commander was extinct or forced to retreat in this world. Clarke could make out some emotions but Lexa always had that control of holding back. Of protecting herself, Clarke would imagine to her last dying breath.

But she was alive. Clarke narrowed her eyes and thought it was possible for someone to look like a remnant of themselves. As she lowered her knife she wondered when would she stop being shocked by this world and she watched Lexa slump like her matter had been stolen from her. Without thinking Clarke crossed the short distance and held onto Lexa's forearms, forcing her upright against the wall. Up close Lexa had the same eyes. Still is shocked her there was no black war paint. Finally Lexa lowered her own knife, though smaller and likely more deadly. With a frown Clarke noticed even the bones in Lexa's hands seemed more prominent. Again she looked up at Lexa's eyes, feeling they were her only honest tell. Maybe that's why she kept reading from poets they were the windows to the soul. She frowned deeply, unable to obtain a poker face.

Aside from the leather pants Lexa wore lose clothes. A long sleeve shirt and a scarf looked comfortable. For a second Clarke thought she could pass for casual, but she looked too thin. Smaller than she remembered. Clarke thought she was borderline before but also knew she was composed of lean muscle that held deadly instruments in her surprisingly soft hands. Half constructed by other's expectations and self composed product of contradictions. Lexa deflated further, like her steel bones had turned to rust and were crumbling.

"Do you want to sit down?" She paused and thought of all the questions to ask she voiced that one? "You look...tired." She added when Lexa didn't reply. With the smallest nod Clarke was given the go ahead to step away from the brunette who sat down with a long sigh and breathed like she had run a marathon.

"Were you going to intimidate anyone who comes in here to death? Was that your plan?" The amateur earth dweller said as she stood, looking down on Lexa who narrowed her eyes then smirked when she saw Clarke flinch.

"How long have you been here?" Clarke asked more out of curiosity than needing to know. Lexa sat erect and pointed at a wall. Smoothly Clarke turned and looked behind her to see scratch marks in increments of five tallied. There was more than she could count in a single glance. When she looked back at Lexa he breathing seemed more controlled.

Finally she looked around the large room. The bed looked made, a glass bottle was set on a small side table, miniscule jars were on a slightly large dresser, a trunk that likely contained weaponry was directly within reach and...there was a shower.

"How do you have a shower?" Clarke asked amazed, her voice growing louder. Lexa looked up and held her gaze on the ceiling as though she could see through the earth, could sense if anyone was coming. Clarke made a mental note to talk softer.

"Does it work?" She pressed, unable to hide her excitement.

Slowly Lexa nodded, as though trying to hold Clarke back from creating anymore noise.

"How have you survived?" Clarke half demanded to know while the other half was in shock. To her annoyance Lexa only shrugged as though saying 'I'm here. I just happen to be here.' After a moment Lexa tilted her chin up in a way that asked back you?

"I...came across...found a bunker..."she said with hesitation. This was Lexa. The same commander, woman that essentially sold out her people to save her own. Who was to say Lexa would take her bunker, ransack the place for supplies and leave? No one was around to say so Clarke had to listen to her gut. With a pregnant pause Clarke shifted her gaze to the floor, not having realized she was staring at Lexa for the better part of ten minutes. With each minute Lexa seemed to build her barriers...or reinforce the ones that she already had.

"You don't...look well." She tried and caught Lexa shrug in the most dismissive way. "Can I..." she searched for the right words. But touch was a lot to ask, even if it was needed. "Can I check your vitals?" Clarke questioned in a professional, emotionally removed tone. Because Lexa looked pale and the dark circles under her eyes from this angle were concerning.

She watched as Lexa processed the request. Instead of flat out saying can I just touch you, make sure you're real and feel concrete proof of it she tried to prompt something safe. When the commander smoothly gestured for Clarke to sit on the bed she felt compelled to oblige. Gently and with care Clarke pressed her fingers to her wrist. It wasn't possible to get an entirely accurate reading, relying on her internal clock for a minute but she at least felt her pulse was strong. No erratic pattern and nothing that supported Clarke needed to greatly worry about her heart. Slowly she retracted her hand and rubbed her knee, the pain settling in at the change of position.

There was a heaviness in the room. It didn't need to be discussed. Clarke knew it was the tension. Of all the people to still be alive it had to be Lexa. Though the bunker was large than hers she felt claustrophobic. Or rather it was their past that was pushing on her.

"I have to go," she said standing. With a glance she saw hurt pass across Lexa's features in a flash. "I'll...can I come back tomorrow?" She asked on second thought, feeling more so than thinking interaction was needed. And she couldn't abandon Lexa, couldn't dismiss her in such a harsh way, even if it may have been justified. She wasn't that person.

With what seemed deep consideration Lexa nodded.

"I promise I'll be back," she said as she moved to the ladder and held onto a rung. At best Lexa seemed conflicted but offered a resigned nod as though saying-your choice.

Above ground she stared at the door and turned away only when she heard a solid clink of a lock sliding into place. It was after a few paces was she able to gather her thoughts, form them into some sort of coherency and breathe easier. For weeks she had felt like a vagabond. Now...she wasn't alone.

Day 2

Regal. The next day she comes back to an unlocked, broken door she finds Lexa regally sitting on the bed with a knife always within reach. Her body language and emanated power. Clark thought it might be ingrained in her. Or it was residual power now that she didn't have anyone to rule over-anyone to watch over-anyone to be responsible for. Her eyes were unguarded, uncertainty floated in them, like clouds hanging, obstructing what were once full of conviction. Clark could see the tendons tense in her shoulders she took a step closer into the room. _Her sanctuary_ she thought.

She had spent the better part of last night gathering food into a backpack for Lexa. Anything of use that could be consumed. A book found its way in there as well. And there were a million questions she wanted to ask but couldn't bring herself. Rather than ask her questions Clark settled on the one that seemed the most important- do you want to talk. Lexa shook her head but there was something there that said conveyed she appreciated the question. They sat in silence after Clarke emptied the contents of the food onto the bed. When she held up a utensil, prompting Lexa to eat Clarke felt awkward watching someone glare at sustenance. Even with the change of clothes and scarf Lexa still seemed uptight and proper. With a tilt to her head she indicated Clarke could take a shower rather than watch her slowly eat. The only thing that betrayed her facade were her eyes she thought as she slightly flinched with each bite.

But the consideration was gone when Lexa used sign language towards the shower. Her movements fluid. For a second Clarke humored the thought of in another life Lexa could do ballet even as she felt the commander was trying to create physical distance.

The shower was a reason she could keep coming back here she contemplated once the water was on. Somehow the water was warmer than the waterfall. For a second she had felt self conscious of undressing in the same room as Lexa but after a glance over she saw the pensive woman writing in a small pad, giving Clarke privacy by essentially dismissing her.

Standing under the stream she was able to see small jars on the man-made shelf that had been dug into the wall. With delicate twists she opened each one, finding part of the source that smelled like Lexa that wasn't just Lexa. Only one jar was marked with the word jasmine. Once she stepped out of the shower she was surprised to find a towel on a chair for her. With a glance back to the uncluttered bed she found Lexa with the book she had brought in her hand. Her bag was at the corner on the floor.

"Do you make your own lotions..products?" She asked in a dazed awe she forgot she was standing in a towel. Lexa didn't bother to look up from the pages but nodded. Clarke bit her lip. A habit since being alone and lacking a need to talk or really use her mouth. Quickly she pivoted away to put on her clothes, but when she turned around she saw tucked away behind a corner a small dresser with instruments that looked like a lab. Herbs and dried plants were bunched and some looked like they had been ground and bowls were in a clear order.

When she was dressed she stood looking down at Lexa who seemed incredibly far away but within arms reach. _I should ask if she even wants me here..._

With a sigh she picked up her bag and moved to the ladder. Once her jacket was on she looked back at Lexa who still seemed enamored with the book.

"I'll be back tomorrow, ok?" Though she didn't receive a reply there was a slight stinging that quickly passed through her. With another sigh she went up, out and back to her home.

Arthur was thrilled to see her and focused on her bag as if there was something new. After she let him out she refilled the jars with food for tomorrow. It wasn't until she flipped open a lid did she find a piece of paper folded neatly into the top. Slowly she opened it, curious but with trepidation.

Life is asking yourself the same question in varying degrees- Who am I? Who am I without someone defining me. Who are we if you don't have a point of reference? Or the antithesis or similarities? Am I a pacifist because I loath war, hate what it does, what it brings and wish no 1 should have to enter into it? Our lives are only a series of choices.

Clarke had to sit down to process Lexa's existential crisis. For a second she was distracted by the handwriting-seeing it for the first time. All capitol letters and somehow artistic. It seemed useless to analyze Lexa. If anything Lexa did everything with a purpose, but she was too tired to work it out. Instead she fully emptied her bag and quickly grabbed the book that fell out to avoid Arthur treating it like a chew toy. A small piece of paper stuck out. With a delicate pull she read-reading quells boredom. With a smirk she considered no one their age commonly used the word quell. _So that's how it'll be_ she wondered. They would trade books while she kept checking in on her? Thoughts became disjointed as she lay in bed, feeling ambivalent at best towards taking care of someone, specifically Lexa. Arthur yawned, distracted her as he curled into a ball. Her night had been in a daze. Eating, packing, organizing. One of her last fully conscious thoughts as she replayed the surreal interaction was how calm Lexa looked reading on her bed, tuning out the world that made Clarke wonder if Lexa had grown up on the arc she would have been completely different. She would have a very altered life. Clarke could see her working in the library, contently surrounding herself with knowledge or she could see her as an engineer. Not as rash as Raven but methodical and quiet. Anything she could enjoy peace and be in her element. The idea of peace, along with the concept of inner peace allowed her to drift to sleep easily.

Day 3

The walk was becoming painful with the cold weather. Part of her wanted to stay in bed and talk with Arthur who seemed more willing than Lexa to engage in conversation. As she walked she bit and

chewed on her bottom lip, feeling like it had bubbles in it. When she tore the layer open it felt like a toxin when blood released. Mulling it over she thought it was an allergic reaction or a horrible sinus infection but she didn't give it much thought when she bent and knocked on the door. Not that she expected an answer but she was surprised it was unlocked. Even more shocked she found Lexa asleep, eyes held tight as she flinched and cringed her was through a dream. For a second she thought the leader seemed the most honest in this state as she watched her eyelids flutter, took a seat, and waited.

It would be insane to wake Lexa who likely had a knife under her pillow. Again she took in the room and found a piece of paper folded with her name on it. Underneath was material. Quietly she picked it up and found a jar inside the fabric. She turned the jar in her hands. The sound of a groan startled her but Clarke was more surprised Lexa was fully awake within seconds-ever watchful and alert as she looked from Clarke to... _what were they..gifts?_ She kept touching the item that was course on the outside, soft on the inside and seemed to have bands of copper wire inside it. She could only guess on account a piece of the wire stuck out slightly of the meticulously made piece. _The stitching looks machine done, which is impossible._

Again she felt it too surreal. And with a frown at realizing it was easy to enter in while Lexa was vulnerable said, "You need to put a lock on your door." A raised eyebrow from the commander was the only acknowledgement. An infuriating gesture that on someone like Finn she would have found attractive, but instead of allowing that thought process she raised the jar and asked, "what is this" with narrowed eyes and almost regretted her accusatory tone. Because a gift was a foreign concept and hard to wrap her mind around. But Lexa only raised her eyebrows like she was amused then pointed to the jar. In a trance Clarke followed Lexa's index finger as she touched her own bottom lip. Slowly she twisted off the cap and brought it to her nose. It smelled of peppermint and was a faint cream color. After a pause she applied it to her top lip then to her raw bottom lip. It felt like a chill of ice then cool water on her sensitive skin. With widened eyes she looked back at Lexa who was already pointing to the material and then to her own knee. Of course when Clarke was confused Lexa held out her and like saying may I?

Smoothly Lexa took it, opened it and put her arm through the loop and held it around her elbow like a display. Clarke was more distracted by the tattoos and burns on tan skin than the tutorial. There were far more marks than she remembered. It was only when Lexa held out the brace does Clarke refocus.

"Thank you," she said with a frown. Though Lexa looked like she wanted to say something they sit in silence, eating, being tense, and Clarke thinks there's a lot of almosts with Lexa. Always had been. A consistency to her. Lexa who holds herself rigid and somehow torn and Clarke thinks _tragic words can be beautiful. Like shattered..._ as she looks at Lexa who seems to have concaved into herself. And its painful to see and she doesn't stop herself from pushing when she asks, "do you want to talk?"

The shake of her head is another solid barrier and Clarke sighs and gets up to leave. With effort she made her voice flat, knowing anger often shuts people down. "I'll see you tomorrow," she added solidly just before she moved to put on her jacket. It was an excuse but she was glad to have Arthur as a reason to leave, his presence in the back of her head.

With concerned eyes Lexa held Clarke's wrist. It was night. It's not safe. Green eyes that were far too expressive said with the accompanied hold.

"I have to go." Clarke finally stated as she placed the items in her bag and expected Lexa to ask why but frowned when the girl went to grab her own heavy covering. "You're going to walk me home?" She questioned in disbelief and watched in what shouldn't have been a surprise the slightest shrug she had witnessed in her life. In shock she didn't refuse Lexa but she didn't offer her or question her to stay the night. Lexa was capable of wandering back on her own she reasoned.

It would have been easy to be offended. The implication that she couldn't fend for herself was there but Clarke knew...in the way that Lexa had held her wrist that wasn't what she should take from their interaction. Once they were on the surface she had more proof she had no reason to be offended when Lexa walked beside her, not as a body guard, though still tense and protective. Each step as an equal.

The distance seemed shorter walking with someone else. Strange as it was, her bunker felt like it snuck up on her. She didn't think to inform the commander of Arthur who raised her knife and gripped it hard when she opened the door and he ran out.

"Don't you dare," she said with authority to Lexa. "Arthur sit." She commanded and was proud he was already in the process of sitting before she had to say it from to the hand gesture of her palm facing the ground. Lexa looked at her like saying-oh hell, you named it.

"What?" Clarke said with narrowed eyes, ready for a verbal argument. Lexa only shook her head, clearly annoyed but chose to put her knife away. "He seemed like an Arthur," she added and pat her thigh, prompting the big creature to push his head into her leg affectionately. Lexa continued to look on with apprehension.

"In all of your readings you've never heard of nature versus nurture?" She challenged in a strong tone after Lexa's vibe of 'that thing cannot be trusted'.

Though Lexa knew several languages, a fact Clarke was aware of, the woman raised an eyebrow that signaled touché. A part of her didn't want to say she understood Lexa's mistrust. In a few days Arthur had grown fast. She couldn't imagine what his size would be in a month. He already reached mid thigh and he was bulky, but she was thankful for him. She was responsible for him and if that meant arguing with who she believed may be the only living person for a great distance she'd protect him, regardless of how intimidating he looked. With contentment she let out a little laugh as she waited for Lexa to go into her bunker but tilted her head as though saying you and him first.

She knew Lexa was not be the type to ask for help. It would never happen. Even when they were trying to escape the gorilla Lexa told her to leave her because she was raised to be a sacrifice, because she had accepted that she would die young. Clarke saw this behind every inspirational, rallying speech. Lexa who waited for her next move like chess pieces. Lexa who was smaller, smaller than her, graceful in a way that was painful, tragic in a way that was heartbreaking and spun Clarke into angry madness because Lexa had accepted her early grave because her people had dug it with care, reverence and love. But her people were gone, as was her duty. All that was left was Lexa. Not commander Lexa but someone who was more human and a _young girl who carries an old soul in her_ Clarke thought as she looked at Lexa who scanned her eyes over the forest that seemed to be forging maps of trails and recounting steps to get back to her bunker.

"Lexa." The girl still peered at the trees. Distracted. Intense. _I'm exhausted._ "Lexa," she said louder and followed with a sigh "you can stay the night."

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End note: There was suppose to be more to this chapter but I want them to have a realistic build up. The reason why I wrote this story which is rather different than my others because I really wanted a chance to comment on human nature/dynamics/emotions. Thanks for reading. More soon.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Thanks for reading. Really this was fun and depressing and different for me to write. Thank you Lydia Darling (as you are in my phone) for sharing your writing and allowing me to use it. See end note for the exact lines. She's wonderful. If anyone wants to see random thoughts my twitter is at PlaceForAnEcho where pictures of my dog, me about to write, screen shots of snarkiness, etc are shared. Presently-happy holidays. Be happy, healthy and hopefully be filled with laughter with the new year coming. One can hope...

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"In a nice world I would die in my sleep." It was a quiet admission and one brought by so much silence that she felt compelled to be painfully, irrevocably honest. Lexa tilted her head as if she were trying to get a different view on her words. _If it was possible to live to old age_ she thought but didn't say. There wasn't such an urgency now that there weren't any wars. If she kept being faster than the carriers she would keep surviving. But it was only surviving and she knew this. _What's living if you can't share it with anyone?_ She questioned as she looked at Lexa who sat stiffly in the chair, fighting sleep, her mouth twitching in a way that seemed she wanted to offer comfort or her own experiences...something like feelings. More so she was always fighting something. "Lexa. Come lay down," she edged on being demanding.

Lexa who seemed rooted in the chair and didn't move with the exception of a twitch clearly heard Clarke but ignored it.

"Do you want to talk," Clarke asked. It was the constant question she asked once a day. She hoped it assured Lexa that she cared and was there to listen but Lexa shook her head again. This is why she read books and talked with Arthur. Some days it seemed like the books talked back and if Arthur could speak actual words instead of with his eyes or occasional groans she imagined he'd say "Where are we going? Adventure? Food?" But she knew she couldn't pull words out of Lexa. "Okay. Would you come lay down?" She asked in a softer tone, seeing how tense Lexa looked in the chair.

Smoothly Lexa stood and moved slowly, allowing Clarke the chance to move further to the side of the bed. The unknown truth was Clarke never took up the middle of the bed. Her side was on the left, regardless that she didn't have anyone to share it with. Subconsciously and with her own realization she felt she refrained from taking up the whole bed because she was waiting to share it with someone. If she allowed it. It would take certain traits in an individual that would prompt Clarke to welcome anyone into her bed.

It seemed inevitable and inescapable she would be alone. Her life was becoming a series of words with negative connotations. But there was always that hopeful edge to human nature that didn't allow for a complete submission to despair.

And Clarke thought she's Lexa, not Heda. She has resigned her leader role. With a pause as Lexa stood before her like a young woman who had lost everything like her she wondered how much of Lexa had been changed and molded when she was renamed Heda because she knew names held power and influence.

It wasn't until Lexa was tense laying beside her, back facing her with slow breaths did Clarke allow her thoughts to slip into a lull. Until Lexa shuddered and took in a strange breath. Carefully Clarke moved closer, lifted her head and looked down at Lexa who was still wide awake and trying to concave on herself. If it wasn't for her training she didn't believe she could access with such emotional detachment. Clarke held Lexa's ribs, hand slipped under her shirt after she professionally asked, "can I check?" It almost felt like she was cradling her anatomy. Uneven intakes had worried her and this was the easiest way to gauge as Lexa squirmed away at the gentle movements. Almost making Clarke laugh. Almost because it was Lexa's job to be strong and hold to that but she was ticklish. "Deep breath in through your nose, out through your mouth." She instructed. After what felt like a five minutes but realistically she knew had to be two she felt Lexa had relaxed. For a second she tensed once she noticed she was pressed against her, the realization made her take in a sharp breath and tried to move back, but her wrist was held gently. With small circles made, like tracing a full moon in a soothing graze. She held still. She let go. And she chose to connect.

Day 4

The right side of her bed was empty. Which meant her door was unlocked. Quickly she got up, startled Arthur and grabbed her knife. Something could be waiting above as she moved to check. Luckily it was a forest and snow. With a sigh she thought she should have known snow had descended since her knee felt stiffer the moment she got out of bed. Without any rush she began to pack and get dressed. She was looking forward to a shower if Lexa was there to offer. But the walk to her bunker made her knee feel like someone was removing the cartiledge and she had to sit numerous times on whatever large enough rock to rub heat into it. With a sigh she knocked and waited. Finally she pulled on the door, went down the stairs and was surprised Lexa wasn't in. For a second she felt invasive that she was looking at everything in the room. Pressed flowers, botany in cups in her corner, neat slashes on the wall to represent the days, and a piece of paper folded near her bed on the side table. As though in a trance Clarke went over and read it. Handling it like it were butterfly wings as the paper felt thin and smelled old and with elegant handwriting.

Do not be sad if your skin is textured rough from past sins.  
Your sins are not the essence of you  
Your wrecked sobs at midnight  
Your ruptured veins at one a.m.  
Your tattered bones at two  
They will be your thrown one day  
You are more than your bruises  
You have always been your own.

-C

 _Holy..._ Clarke thought and reread it and reread it to the point the words blurred. Even as an atheist she thought it takes a certain...other-worldly bond to understand someone to the extent Costia could of Lexa. And without a doubt, she felt it before she knew it-Costia had written it. Composed it with love in each letter. How Lexa was more than her predecessors bestowing their burden and legacy on her, more than sins and glorified actions, that she was more than fierce will and breakable bones, far more than a bloody thrown.

Just as she set it back on the table she heard the door nearly silently shut. Slowly she turned around and caught Lexa's eyes that looked...

Betrayed.

Layered over hurt, disguised as anger as her eyes narrowed. She looked at this quiet woman who was molded into a weapon, who was content to live out her days reading, pressing flowers and distancing herself from the violence, malice and brutality of death as she could. She was too busy looking at Lexa's eyes to notice her subtle movements of tucking a shovel behind the ladder, the shadows swallowing its presence. With strength Lexa crossed the distance, with the utmost care picked up the note, grabbed a book quickly and with such delicacy put the note between the pages. It was like watching a war or a dance. Soft, hard, soft motions. As Lexa turned and focused on Clarke, the girl who came from the sky on instinct took a step back. Ending on hard.

There was a clenched fist that moved in circles near her hip and Lexa's breathing was erratic. Then Lexa started to hyperventilate. She tore at her shirt, pulled to the side showing a prominent collar bone, dirt and bubbles of sweat. Without thinking she moved forward and grabbed Lexa's forearms and positioned her to sit on the bed.

"You're hyperventilating." She said with distance and in shock. Maybe this was Lexa, not Heda, because she didn't have to act strong anymore. There was no one to lead but as she looked down at Lexa, checked her pulse on her wrist and told her to breathe through her nose, out her mouth she thought "sometimes breathing doesn't feel automatic, it can take work...and sometimes the energy to do it feels like its not worth it, but the conscious effort can make anyone feel floored and flooded. But we keep doing it." It wasn't until Lexa blinked at her with an unwavering gaze and clear eyes did she realize she said it aloud. She also didn't realize it made Lexa feel calm and normalized her difficulties realizing Clarke was offering understanding or explaining she had felt similar.

With her breathing under control Lexa stood. With a tilt to her head she indicated she wanted Clarke to take a shower. Before Clarke could overthink it she gave a brief nod and tried not to feel like Lexa was dismissing her. But the space was welcomed. With distance she was able to process how blatantly protective Lexa was of the memory of Costia. How willing she was to fight and instead of falling into wondering what it all meant to love a ghost she paused and looked at the towel that was waiting on the chair for her.

When she came out of the shower it was to an empty room. She didn't dare say Lexa's name out loud because it would make her feel stupid and quickly got dressed. Arthur would expect her in a few hours and if Lexa wasn't in to eat, sit and read with she had other options. With the time she decided to wander. It had been days since she had sought an adventure.

Feeling a high from the freedom she walked in a daze, content to feel clean and hopeful Lexa would in time willingly not hold back. It came with a brutal shock she had walked to Mount Weather.

For a moment she stood, feeling that need to consciously breathe as she looked at its mass. It wasn't for a few moments of unknown minutes she realized she was hearing strained grunts and tools hitting rocks, like muffled earth being wrenched open.

Muscle memory was stronger than her awareness as she walked around to the backside and stood before rows and rows of rectangles. There were tools propped against the wall. Briefly she thought it must have taken time to procure that many instruments. In another flash she realized she rarely came across a carrier's body or a body within miles. _Had Lexa formed their graves?_ As she looked at the field of an overwhelming amount of rectangles she knew she didn't need to ask the question. Before her was the confirmation. The dedication. The physical labor. Regardless that no one would see them and Clarke knew Lexa would never have shown her this anger settled into her in a visceral way.

Something solid stopped her hands. The sides ached, pinky and ring fingers felt like they smashed into a tree. But she looked up into green eyes that had more sorrow and compassion, things Lexa wasn't truly allowed to express before. Deep breaths. With a cringe and a frown she knew Lexa would have bruises on her chest. Even though her bones felt like stones, she was built like all others. Tendons and muscles and blood below the surface over her malleable structure. No matter how finely made she was still breakable. But she stood there. Just stood there, with Clarke who felt pressure on her elbows at being held as the blonde gripped the lapels of the jacket with a painful intensity.

Later Clarke would ask Lexa if she was masochistic. If it was a trait that was learned or if it was passed down generation to generation of commanders like left-handedness, brown hair...

It was disconcerting if it was a side effect to being put on a pedestal to be sacrificed. And the questions would be asked in a whisper as she held small ribs as Clarke thought _if I knew how to play an instrument that bass chords would suit Lexa's breathing...her sharp edges...sort of vibrating with unused, contained energy that's bigger than her._

Still she stood unmoving and solid. Torn and somehow maintained a connection as Clarke mirrored warring emotions. If anyone said closure was an easy thing she would have to call them insane. It was more a feeling that Lexa didn't intend for her to come across any of this as she looked at her pleading. And it was intuition or Lexa's demeanor that offered the dialog 'you weren't suppose to see this' as she kept Clarke steady. With a heavy swallow, having felt her throat constrict she thought _Lexa would do well as a worker bee. Another creature limited by a short life._

There wasn't anything to say to the only living person she had found for miles. On the tip of her tongue she wanted to scream say something but they were in the open. Instead she turned and walked to her own bunker.

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Author's Note: Lydia wrote Costia's note. You can follow her twitter at xlroex. She's talented and sometimes my jaw drops. Yup. Sure does. This chapter was meant to be longer but that means Day 5 will be long & harsh.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: While discussing writing, what inspires us & how she believes I'm a writer I said I'm an imposter of a writer. Its true but thank you Lydia for liking the phrase. I go days without it & strangely have to wearing a watch if I write. Hopefully someone reads this & enjoys it. The last 2 lines of Costia's note in chapter 4 I wrote. Selfishly & importantly I enjoyed creating this.

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Day 5

In the bunker Clarke paced with militant dedication. At some point Arthur stopped following her with his eyes and groaned. Gravedigger. A role she never thought Lexa would take up. Not that it was beneath her but she had others to do that work. She had others and now Lexa felt compelled to give them a burial? A sort of solace? She was too annoyed to eat and her thoughts were hoarding all her energy but she reasoned it had to be around three and there were many hours left in the day. With a groan of her own she went back up the ladder, patted her thigh to have Arthur follow and made the journey back to Lexa's. She didn't take the exact same path, not wanting to creating a trail from one bunker to the next. More so she wanted time to think. And she really wanted a nap but had a feeling she would dream of bodies being pulled on a makeshift cart, of Lexa bringing them to their shallow graves. They didn't seem deep. She knew-she was in one-fallen on her knees and could see her deceased neighbors. Mounds of dirt. A dream not unlike her previous nightmares.

Arthur took that moment to push his head into her thigh to remind her he was there. As she looked down she heard a twig break but it wasn't from the canine. Sharply she lifted her head and saw Lexa was in front of her. With a tilt to her head she thought there was a raw beauty to her. And upon further, longer looking she seemed the saddest girl in the...(my)world. I'd prefer to admire the stars and their fleeting beauty while she obsesses over the moon. She could taste like bittersweet tea and half-lost hopes, of held back tears and contained bliss as though she didn't and couldn't trust the momentary happiness.

Kissing Lexa would be different now, she imagined. She had tasted of earthy tea and on their walks Lexa would always search for what she called Luna and had said so factually, "she has a name Clarke of the sky people, maybe you were too focused on the stars..."

And she wanted to hate Lexa because that would be easier, but there was a part of her that knew Lexa had a well hidden, good heart. Because who would take up being a gravedigger? Slowly she walked to the lilthe woman with narrowed eyes and asked, "do you want to talk?" Of course there was that shake of her head and the painful tug that Clarke was right. And because last night when Clarke pressed her ear to Lexa's back she thought it was the saddest sound...like it couldn't decide if it wanted to stay and keep its pace that sounded like a crescendo or its low symphony until it would be forced to give in...

"Fine." She said flatly. "We're going to your bunker." She started walking but Lexa didn't move as though asking why.

With a pause Clarke turned and looked back at the woman, eyes unwavering, looking, more so gazing because someone riddled with an anemic presence still managed to project an air of arrogance, which Clarke knew was a mask. There was never a day, a minute, a moment that Lexa would be in black and white. Superimposed with past lives in her, short comings and glory but never simplicity. She refrained from voicing to Lexa because you're enigmatic and I want to understand why you do these things. She felt Lexa would shrug off the comment and dismiss it. Instead she said with conviction, "you cannot be so cold hearted that you want to be alone right now," in a tone that she dared the girl to challenge her. It was barely there but Lexa gave a small nod then began walking.

The way back was silent. The only sounds were foot steps, Lexa rolling her shoulders and Arthur bounding through leaves. At the bunker Lexa lifted the door and tilted her head as though saying after you. Arthur bolted down and quickly laid in the corner. Before she went in herself she looked around. Slowly she went in after Clarke, careful not to touch her, and locked the door with bolts. Clarke raised her eyebrows in a gesture that didn't need to be spoken of you finally fixed that.

"I kind of hate your actions because I doubt you were ever going to tell me you were burying them...but...I also want to thank you. And I'm going to stress I hate that you put me in that position in the first place," she said with bitterness, "though it seems moot now that most of the world has ended..." she huffed and looked at the ground, as though the anger was pointless but also valid and still taking up so much space between them. Without any hesitation Lexa moved forward. Clarke moved closer and closer until she pushed Lexa against the wall full of marks. Slashes of days, time, surviving. They were _still only surviving_ and Clarke pushed away the thought as she kissed Lexa, fitting together like stars in a constellation, without force, but with damaged, imperfect structures. She embraced feeling like she was suppose to be there. How holding Lexa was like holding an ocean-her breaths like tides, her ribs like tree branches swaying in a windy field. Her bones were not steel, as much as she gave the illusion she felt that as she pressed Lexa against the wall. If anything of all nature had to offer she thought Lexa was like a birch tree. With a certain approach and handling she could be pulled apart-stripped down to the core, her heart, which Clarke knew language could never adequately describe. And even though it would be painful, the most unbearable, nearly intolerable nightmare Lexa held herself with stubbornness, like roots planted and holding and clinging. It was selfish how she wanted to kiss her harder and lay, memorizing her and Lexa kissed like an anarchist, with a pocket full of matches.

But its softer than she expected when she practically demanded Lexa to get in bed and helps her by pushing her down. Its the only harsh thing she does and the harshest thing she'll say is "I kind of hate you" again. Somehow Lexa knows she's not being genuine when she narrows her eyes at her like she knows Clarke wants to scratch trenches and rivets into her back to deposit leftover resentment and residual bitterness from her past that had been formed by betrayal and choices. One choice Clarke knew Lexa would still choose to save her people-forcing her to kill others. And they pause until Clarke presses and lets herself descend onto Lexa...again like falling to earth...and Lexa sighed, glad Clarke chose not to lie to her. That sometimes you had to hurt something to heal. And knowing Clarke wouldn't fully destroy her because she wasn't cruel, but only human.

Then Clarke felt the shift. That Lexa gives into her like a sort of surrender and welcomes any harshness when she's pulled closer. And though she offers-Clarke is gentle in ways that make Lexa's chest tighten because she knows she doesn't deserve it. As she kisses Clarke's fingers she hopes she stores her promised offer that she doesn't need to hold back.

The only thing Lexa did that Clarke believed was not a conscious act was after they were done, most of their clothes still on except pants was when Lexa would throw her leg over the lower half of her body. A slightly possessive action that Clarke would have pushed away anyone else but there was certainty Lexa wouldn't physically, intentionally hurt her. Emotionally was an entirely different story. But in the moment she took Lexa's hands as they laid down and examined how they were without as many callouses as she expected. Gravedigger. Sometimes Lexa was annoyingly layered. It would be foolish to think otherwise. But the leg thing as Clarke deemed it in her head made her feel a strange sort of tenderness that melted the right ventricle of her heart. And the sensation couldn't stop her other thoughts before she fell to sleep...maybe each chamber held something-love, pain, loss, forgiveness. Four chambers each holding an array of emotions. No wonder why they swelled, grew, felt like they were collapsing and even stopping. Moments and memories could sometimes be too much. And sometimes not enough.

Day 6

It was too quiet. No symphony sounds of breathing, no movement and no heat. When Clarke slid her hand to the side of the bed it was empty. She was hoping for an easy day. Simplicity. But Lexa wasn't back by nightfall and Clarke's worry had built to the point of anger. If she went to Mount Weather so be it, but she didn't want to join. Maybe one day but it still felt too raw. Occasionally she had gone out, walked with Arthur and looked for nuts. Surprisingly she remembered to wear her knee brace and felt better, but when darkness came and she felt it had to have been nearing midnight she started to feel nervous. Not that she didn't believe Lexa couldn't overcome issues but that Clarke couldn't control everything. Finally when she did come back it was with an old buck that she had dragged. There was a cut across her cheek bone that made Clarke halt because the deer couldn't have done that. Maybe something with thorns but...

Arthur jumped up distracting her. Insistent on smelling what Lexa brought back who was already building a small fire away from the entrance. She kept slicing and putting bits on the ends of sticks in between skewering larger pieces for them. Arthur got the smaller pieces and seemed thrilled to not eat uncooked squirrel he had just caught. Though Clarke was famished she didn't immediately start in on the food. She appraised Lexa who walked fine, body still lose and graceful, no tight, restrained movements that would indicate she was holding in any pain. Still she reached out to the cheek that didn't have the slight line of blood. Gently Lexa grabbed Clarke's hand in a squeeze, knowing she needed concrete proof she was there.

 _Nothing is real until you can touch it._ She thought, bringing to mind a book Lexa let her borrow. With all the books Clarke felt like it was sociology class on the ark only exponentially better and far suited her auto didactic learning. More importantly the poetry Lexa had stored under her bed from authors long passed would have been considered frivolous, like her drawings. But Lexa seemed to love passing them off to her.

Lexa took a small step forward, pulled her scarf an inch away in a gesture that Clarke thought resembled an offering and felt her hand being raised to her pulse point. It was steady and strong. And it was too easy to accept that Clarke cared but didn't need to say it when she felt the presence of a steady pulse kept its rhythm of blood sliding through veins.

When they were laying in bed last night Lexa felt comforted and she kept seeking out Clarke's hands and shared breaths and trembling limbs that felt unattached from herself until Clarke was tracing her tan, scarred forearms. And because Clarke could be an open book she saw her formulate and try to tuck it all away to memory.

Clarke had been too content to voice-I don't want to dismantle you. And although you will never be the type of person anyone can or should take at face value, even if you wish you were, you have never been simple and this was never easy. But I don't want to tear you apart. As much as I could and as much as you set yourself up to let me, but for honesty's sake told herself she would tell Lexa one day. Maybe at three a.m. Midnight to two seemed to belong to Costia now.

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"Kissed like an anarchist with a pocket full of matches" and the actual quote is "a strange sort of tenderness that melted the right ventricle of my heart" are from the anatomical shape of the heart. "Nothing is real until you can touch it" is from Radiance by Catherynne Valente. Happy New Year. Again this was meant to be longer but I liked the ending for this chapter. More explained in the next one.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Turns out I'm semi-allergic to wine...made me rather depressed. Clarke will not move in with Lexa or vice versa. Its too soon. And things that I've said or what has been said to me gets put into my fics occasionally.

* * *

The totality of it was with so much weight she wondered if this was how Atlas felt in the great myths. She stopped resenting Lexa when it became too heavy to carry around. When caring too its place then retreated with the onslaught of anger then was pushed back to make room for a desire to connect. There was immediate anger how she could keep it a secret...but the craving to understand her shadows, her reluctance to be bare and her conscious holding back made Clarke stand and hold to the position she was in. It was about holding. Wanting to say "I can't hold onto you...but I want to" but not allowing the sentiment to hang between them.

As she stepped out into the chilled, open air she went about covering any trace of a fire. The embers had completely burned out, their ash appearing to meld with the snow. Arthur explored within seeing distance until he dashed over a hill, likely after hearing some small, peaceful creature. Clarke pushed down on the shovel, trying to make a large enough hole to bury the remains of the stag Lexa had brought. If she could stop the smell of death looming in the air she would certainly try. With each handful of soil she tuned out the world, focused and distracted. She didn't hear Lexa come to stand beside her, a shovel in her own hand, waiting to be told she could join of if Clarke wanted to do all the work. She also didn't hear two, still human men make their way to them, crunching leaves until Lexa held her wrist.

Two very human, real, unaffected men. Clarke couldn't tell their age. They looked dirty and there was even a sour smell exuding off them. Clarke narrowed her eyes as one took a step forward. She felt Lexa shift and stand to her side, not in front, but the defensive stance was screamed in her body language. It was slim to none but Clarke wanted to look at Lexa to see if somehow she recognized them. With her left foot forward and hand shifting over the knife she kept at her hip that was facing away from them that was a firm no.

"Look here, we're not the only ones," the one who stepped forward said in a tone that Clarke thought didn't seem shocked but also like they were laying claim. Clarke didn't respond. It didn't warrant a response when someone was pointing out the obvious. Their stances, their tones, their aggressive and ranking eyes made Clarke think they wanted them to bow to them.

"You know what this means? Two of them. Two of us. We can repopulate." The one a few steps back said. He tilted his head and appraised them. She glanced to the side and saw Lexa narrow her eyes. For a second a quote passed in her mind-no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.

Lexa only shifted in the most subtle way that to Clarke made her seem regal again. She was incapable of bowing to another. Clarke in that second was thankful for her proud lineage as she quickly glanced and saw her demeanor shift again to one of resolution as her green eyes looked slightly polluted like the world around them.

"Are you idiots?" Clarke said without thinking. Though it was poised as a question it came out more as a statement. "Incest, too small of a gene pool, also repulsion." She stated factually and flatly.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because they both took a step closer. In that one leering movement and with closer proximity Clarke felt the threat of rape.

"Doesn't matter to me," the first one said redundantly and in those few words it seemed to give Lexa permission to fight. The second he stepped within an arms reach, hand out to clench her neck she brought her knife forward and slashed two fingers off in disturbing silence.

After the screams everything went in slow motion and also fast. Clarke gripped the shovel and used it as a shield as the taller man didn't pause. He was within two feet and although Clarke was tired of bringing harm and violence she brought the shovel up, prepared to swing. The second he took another step forward Arthur barreled into him, mouth at his arm, teeth clamped down and pulled him to the ground. Clarke stood in shock until she heard the pop of a socket being separated. The forced, unnatural and yet satisfaction she saw in green eyes when she looked back at Lexa was visceral. Quickly she looked at Arthur who was growling down at the man who was under him. Thick drool was falling onto the mans face but he didn't dare move as Arthur moved his massive head lower until his breath was making the mans unkempt bangs rustle.

Again she looked at Lexa, though she knew she didn't need to, she was certain he would never be able to hurt her, but as she watched she saw Lexa had a slash on her arm. She defended without any regard for her well being, without a word being uttered, each movement telling she didn't fear death, every swing and pivot expressing she put everything she had into protecting them. For a second Clarke wondered if she fought with the desperate abandon because she dreamed she could have done this for Costia.

The first time Lexa briefly discussed her ex she didn't need to elucidate. She didn't have to read all the books in their bunkers to know history did not often treat girls and women with kindness.

"Heda." She says strongly, undertone screaming stop. Lexa stilled from pressing further into the man's chest, blade above his heart. Clarke didn't want them to know their names. They didn't deserve to know her name. But she couldn't let her beat him to death as she projected her hatred onto him as she tried to bury the past, pulverize him into an unrecognizable thing-stand ins to faceless murders that no doubt haunted her. And that hopeful part of her wanted to say-don't let them change you. Instead she took a step closer and looked down at the man. "You will not seek us out ever. You will leave. Your choices are that or death. Do you understand?" She demanded, all too aware that with a nod she could instruct Lexa to simply push down. When he nodded, eyes swollen, cuts on his forehead and hand still, no longer reaching for the gun that was too far and swiftly she picked it up and held it firmly, telling it was her possession now. Then she looked at the other man and said, "do you understand?" With a pause and eyes shifting from the hound to Clarke he nodded his head. Smoothly she walked over to him, aimed the gun at his head then moved it to the side at his temple as she leaned over and searched his body for any weapons. Surprisingly he only had a knife. It explained why the man who was the aggressor seemed more certain, chose to be at the head and take the first imposing steps. She didn't bother to look in his eyes. She didn't want to remember them.

With a snap of her fingers Arthur moved back, paws no longer on the mans shoulder and stomach. The man stood after Clarke took created distance between them.

"Leave or we will hunt you and kill you," she added for good measure. Slowly Lexa rose and allowed for the man to stand. Quickly they looked between them, in shock and anger they hadn't been allowed their intentions. When they still stood, weary to move as they glanced at Arthur then Lexa who took a step closer like she would gladly kill them regardless of the deal Clarke stated they stepped back.

"Go." Clarke said with finality that she wouldn't say anything more and with an edge that implied she wasn't about to instruct either of her companions to restrict themselves again. Both men dropped their gazes and turned. When they were beyond a hill and out of sight both women moved from their statuesque positions. On autopilot she made her way back into the bunker, unaware she snapped her fingers again to get Arthur to come follow and a fixed gaze at Lexa that said 'we will talk in the bunker or so help me...'

"You have nothing to say?" Clarke nearly yelled but didn't dare raise her voice to the level she wanted once Lexa locked the latches in place. The other woman looked conflicted and for a second as though she had been slapped. "Lexa. I had to ask you to not kill him." She said, chest rising with anger like she had sprinted a mile. "I don't want that much power ever again." She shook her head. "Are you going to say anything?" Finally she raised her voice, anger at the situation, for what life had become, for finding the one person in all the world who was like a stone wall, a bunker personified.

Lexa took a step forward and for a fraction of a second Clarke instinctually wanted to take a step back but remained rooted. The taller woman drew into herself, arms confined to her sides as she stood at her full height, as though she didn't want to intimidate Clarke but wasn't about to apologize for her character either. Slowly she lifted her hands and pinched the material of her scarf in nervous hesitation. With a deep sigh she lifted the thick material away and held her breath.

It took Clarke seconds that felt like minutes to realize what she was looking at. Her eyes had to fall from her eyes to her thin neck that had healed, small lacerations about the same distance apart around...

And she blinks and frowns, unsure what she's seeing until Lexa isn't infront of her anymore. Then she hears her breathing, the rhythmic effort like it was tedious and took more effort than fighting for their lives. When she turns back around with a piece of paper in her hand Clarke thinks Lexa's eyes look like how own must look when she's standing before someone naked. She feels the paper press into the apex of her diagram and finally takes it. Lexa stepped back but braced herself like she couldn't take her actions back.

Drawing of barbed wire. Her hand shook. With thick enough leather gloves...someone could hold barbed wire...and...use it...she processed slowly. Or someone who didn't feel pain...nerve receptors dead and dulled wouldn't care and could have...

Her mind didn't want to come to the conclusion that someone had strangled Lexa with make-shift, grotesque weapons. Lexa who was more fragile than people realized because she was expected to be strong. And then it hit her Lexa had the drawing at her disposal and was prepared to show her. Saliva building, throat muscles twitching. She thought she was going to be sick. Now Clarke understood why Lexa drank tea constantly, why she ate very soft food or soups. Eating would hurt, would in fact be excruciating. And it was amazing the area had healed and avoided any infections she would later think.

In shock she watched as Lexa lifted her chin, raised her hand and gently touched her neck with her fingertips at her neck in nearly the exact way that made Clarke have a flashback to her childhood. Of asking her father if mermaids were down on earth because of the half fish, half human movie. She barely touched the scar that was near her voice box. Her neck rippled as she swallowed like she was tolerating pain as she clenched her jaw. But Clarke caught the wince Lexa tried to cover by narrowing her eyes like she was preparing for Clarke's next move and reaction.

Without thinking she moved closer, closing the distance, ending barriers and held Lexa, a hand cupping her jaw, an arm around her waist trying to convey what words couldn't.

"I hate that you've had to be strong," she started and felt selfish for starting with an I statement but continued. "I'm glad you are. I'm glad you're here."

She could feel Lexa tense in shock. Then slowly, like ice melting, relax and sink down to sit on the bed as though honesty was that draining. Once Lexa's breathing settled into its norm Clarke kneeled before her. "Can I check?" She asked, eyes going from her eyes to her neck. With a pause and another barely visible nod is given which Clarke thinks is becoming a signature gesture of Lexa's she raised her hands and moves her thumbs along the sides of Lexa's neck to feel the damage. She feels scar tissue build up and takes in her own shuddering breath. With a pull of air as if to contain her emotions she dropped her hands and said, "thank you."

A perplexed look crossed Lexa's features as though asking-why are you thanking me?

"For letting me...care." She finally admits after searching for the word.

Unfortunately she knows instantly that was the wrong thing to say because she feels Lexa recoil in an acute way. Back going tense as though she couldn't accept the sentiment. Like she was bracing for the brutality that sometimes came with sincerity. She shifted away and looked back with remorse, practically screaming louder than Clarke had minutes ago-I wish you would care less. I need you to care less.

Because they were doomed, because it was another hardship she had to endure in a long list that aged them, because those hardships made them hard, because accepting being cared for was one of her most difficult endeavors and because it was even more difficult to trust that Clarke accepted her damaged.

But Clarke was not the type to abandon. It would be against her nature to-to not fight regardless of the odds.

Lexa breathed heavily and Clarke watched with skittering focus as her chest rose and fell, deep, deep breaths that implied strong lungs.

"I don't want to love you." She said in resigned defeat that held an edge like she was trying to fight gravity. Her tone boldly conveying this is all I have to offer even with self-sabotaging coldness.

It took Clarke minutes to realize what Lexa had said with all her layers and that Lexa spoke. She had to swallow her own shock and began to feel stiff from how long she had been kneeling. Finally, after consideration and internal debates she got up and sat at the end of the bed to face Lexa who kept her breathing to a controlled minimum. An act that made Clarke think You're breathing is already best suited to bass chords. And wished she could play an instrument that could resemble Lexa's sharp edges and aura that sort of vibrated with unused, contained energy that was bigger than her.

"Why?" She asked softly, seeking that understanding.

"Everyone." Her voice turned beyond low, dropped further than raspy and paused to grimace through her voicing. "Everyone I love dies."

* * *

Author's Note: "I can't hold onto you" is from _The Danish Girl_. Practically seamless film. "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent" is of course Eleanor Roosevelt. _The Little Mermaid_ is also referenced. Alright then. Last chapter next.


End file.
